


April Showers

by CathexisArcana



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Gen, Nudity, Peeping, shower, voyeur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 23:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10398501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathexisArcana/pseuds/CathexisArcana
Summary: April visits the turtles in their sewer lair, but she gets soaked in the rain on the way. Overcoming her reluctance, she takes their offer to let her use their shower, not realizing the four teenagers can see into the bathroom through a few strategic places in the wall. Master Splinter, however, is not amused.





	

It was another rainy night in New York, and April was ready to unwind and have some pizza with the turtles after a long, stressful week at Channel 6 News and dealing with Vernon’s bullshit, which had seemed even more obnoxious than usual after he was knocked out by a Foot soldier last weekend. April wondered if the concussion was adversely affecting his already insufferable personality.

She ran across the river-like street with her jacket over her head, her white boots soaking quickly as they made little geysers of water erupt with every rapid step. Sewer covers are typically heavy as hell, but Leonardo had installed a special sliding plate for this entrance, which made it easy for her to hop down onto the ladder and slide the lid back over her within seconds. 

Climbing down into the dim lighting, she realized the old ladder was scrubbed clean, probably with metal wool. “Damn, every girl needs a few turtles around the house,” she mumbled with a smile. She had only become “friends” with the turtles and their master Splinter a month ago, but already they were trying to make their subterranean lair as hospitable as possible for her. She had a feeling they were trying to get her to stop by more often, which was just fine with her. 

After all, being a serious female reporter in this cut-throat business left her little time for an actual dating life, despite many of her co-workers sad attempts to invite her out for drinks with a less than professional twinkle in their eyes. 

Despite the oddly clean appearance of the tunnel, no one would suspect that this poorly lit, damp and musty hall led to what was the most surreal, fun-filled abode in the entire Big Apple. After a few minutes of walking briskly, she came to a metal door that had once led to a maintenance supply station. Music, voices and laughter could be heard faintly from the other side. 

She knocked loudly on the door, tapping out the rhythm of “Smooth Criminal” with her knuckles; it was one of their favorite songs this year, which meant it had become the new secret code for a friendly guest. Within moments the door fairly exploded open, and Michelangelo's orange-wrapped face leered comically into view. 

“April!” He pulled her through the door and slammed it shut. 

She laughed in surprise, keeping her balance by using his rock-hard shoulder as a support. “I guess that means you’re happy to see me.”

“Uh, yeah! You could look like a chick version of Humphrey Bogart and you would still be easier on the eyes than the ugly mugs around here.

Donatello and Leonardo rolled into the room and sprang up beside her. Their green, dimpled skin had a bright sheen to it. 

“Cowabunga!” Donatello said happily. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I knew she would,” Leonardo quipped with a smile. 

“I’m here,” April agreed pleasantly, holding her drenched coat away from her like a stray cat. “So, why are you guys all sweaty?”

“We just finished sparring,” Leo said. 

Donatello locked his fingers in front of him and cracked them. “I won, of course.”

“If ‘victory’ only meant ‘losing horribly,’ Leo shot back. 

“Dude, you never touched me!” 

“Yeah, my katana did-- like, a lot.”

Raphael strolled coolly into the room and leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “They both lost,” he clarified. “You sure you want to hang out with these losers, April?”

“Oh, all of you are winners in my book,” April said diplomatically. She shivered slightly from the chill of her rain-dappled skin and wet clothes. 

“You are cold,” came an old, wizened voice. 

Master Splinter seemed to materialize from a shadowed alcove, his decidedly rodent features appearing oddly human with concern. 

She startled a little at his sudden appearance, then felt bad for it. “Splinter, hi...yes, it’s raining cats and dogs up there.”

“And down here it’s turtles and rats,” Splinter said. 

Despite the groans from the turtles, April smiled at the pun. “Very true…”

“You know we have hot water down here,” Donatello said. “And an electric dryer.”

“Yeah, that you cobbled together from like ten other broken ones,” Raphael muttered. 

“It dries clothes,” he said with a shrug.

April had stayed in some rather seedy motels during her time as a reporter, but she was not thrilled about the idea of taking a shower in a sewer. Her face must have told the story. 

“It is quite clean,” Splinter assured her. “I had the boys clean it thoroughly.”

“Every single hair and shell flake,” Michelangelo added musingly. 

At that, April was on the verge of turning it down, but she was thoroughly chilled by now and she did not want to hurt their feelings when they so clearly wanted to make her feel at home. After all, it was easy to forget that they were teenagers and would likely become mopey if she offended them, even by accident. 

“Ok, just lead the way,” she said gamely. 

All four of the turtles converged in the doorway in the blink of an eye, shouldering and elbowing each other vigorously, their shells clacking together. “I’ll do it!” They chorused. 

“Boys!” Splinter’s voice was like the crack of a whip, and its authority seemed even to silence the boombox another room away. “I will show her the way.”

April crept passed the turtles and fell in line behind Splinter, who led her to a room near the back of their lair, the large part of which was decorated and furnished with posters of girls on the walls, bean bags on the floor, a Nintendo Entertainment System hooked up to the TV, remote control cars underfoot, and a myriad other tell tale signs of teenage occupants. For all that, though, it was not a filthy place, and ever-burning incense kept a pleasant aroma swirling throughout. 

The bathroom was spotless, even if it was a bit dungeon-like, with dull yellow lighting, brick walls, and a drain in the middle of the room on the concrete floor. The shower section was completely open, without a curtain or partition. It was just a shower head sticking out of the wall. The toilet and sink were in a separate alcove across the room. 

‘Lovely,” April murmured. 

Splinter chuckled under his breath. “Throw your clothes into the hall when you are ready. They will dry quickly in Donatello’s contraption.”

“Thank you.”

Splinter withdrew from the room, leaving April to stand in indecision for a long moment, wondering at the strange turn her life had taken since that fateful night she was rescued in the subway by her new friends. 

Taking a breath, she unclasped her belt of her yellow jumpsuit, then kicked off her sodden boots. Her toes, with pink painted nails, were pale with cold, and the concrete floor was not helping. She decided to get the water running before undressing fully, hoping the steam would begin to warm the room. 

 

Michelangelo ran into the kitchen where his three brothers were chatting inanely, as usual. 

“Where’s Master Splinter?” He asked quickly. 

“He went to get the pizzas,” Raphael answered. “Did you get April’s clothes yet?’

“Yeah, about that…”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm?”

“Well, there’s never been a reason to mention or use this little secret before now, but you can actually see into the bathroom from my room closet.”

All three turtle’s heads whipped toward him in a concerted motion, eyes wide. 

“You mean...you mean…” Donatello coughed. “We can watch April take a shower?”

Suddenly they were all headed for Michelangelo’s room in a reckless scramble, all except for Raphael. “You guys are such morons!” he called after them. “You’re falling to pieces over some broad?”

Once in the room, Michelangelo threw up a hand for quiet. “Ok, shhh, guys.” His closet door was still open, and they could see the faint beams of light streaming out of the shadowed wall within. With barely contained enthusiasm, they crept into the closet, one at a time to avoid thumping the door jam or walls. 

Like a blessing from Heaven, there were five or six pea-sized apertures in the old brick, through which one could see the shower area in its entirety if one’s eye was pressed close. Their faces were practically smashed flat against the brick to get the least obstructed view possible. 

“There she is,” Donatello whispered. 

April had just turned on the water, which appeared to be falling from just above them on the other side of the wall, was now putting her hand in the stream every few seconds to test the temperature. Barefoot, she began to unzip her jumpsuit as she turned from them, walking almost out of sight toward the door. They could partially see her slide out of the suit and toss it through the door into the hall. 

“Someone needs to put those in the dryer,” said Leo. 

Donatello glanced over ever so briefly. “Raphael can do it.”

The three stifled gasps as April walked back into full view, gloriously unclothed. 

April’s skin was goosebumped from the shivers, which also hardened the pink nipples of her medium-sized breasts. She dipped her head under the spray of water, let it run through her red hair, which looked much longer now that it was wet and clinging to her neck and shoulders. The water ran over her freckled arms and legs, down a flat, soft stomach. It streams between her legs, soaking the little thatch of silky red hair before it fell to the concrete floor in patters. 

Raphael came up behind them. “Oh, look, a row of dumbasses,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, the fact that it was not a whisper raised their hackles as though he had shouted at them. 

Michelangelo flashed him an evil look, then steered his taciturn brother firmly but carefully to an aperture. Raphael sighed with irritation, but once he gazed into the bathroom, his body went rigid with concentration. “Damn,” he whispered. “Damn, damn, damn…”

April looked around for soap, turning so that her small but shapely wet rump was facing them. She found Master Splinter’s shampoo on a nearby metal shelf, then began lathering her whole body with it, groping her slippery breasts and pushing them so that they looked fuller. Her lips parted slightly as the warm, heavy spray of water hit her naked skin. It seemed as though she had forgotten all about her surroundings, as though she were back home in her own familiar bathroom, because several times she even touched herself between her legs, pressed a finger slightly into the cleft, but then pulled away as though she thought better of it.

For at least five unbroken minutes they watched April caress her glistening body beneath the water, surrounded by clouds of steam like some vision out of time. 

“This is so much better than those Playboys you found,” Leo whispered to Raphael. Suddenly, his head perked up slightly. “Hey, do you guys smell pizza?”

“Shit,” Raphael muttered. 

They turned, and there Splinter stood, as rigid and foreboding as a terracotta warrior, his eyes alight with churning parental wrath. Without speaking, he jabbed a long, clawed finger toward the hallway, ordering them to exit the closet. Awkwardly, they filed out of the room, with only Raphael having the gumption to break from the group to retrieve April’s clothes, which he had apparently already thrown into the dryer before coming to the closet. 

Once in the kitchen, where six pizza boxes were now stacked and giving off a sublime aroma, Michelangelo risked speaking. “I told them about the view from my closet,” he said shamefully. “It’s my fault, Master Splinter.”

Raphael returned wordlessly and stood behind Donatello and Leonardo. 

“I honor your integrity in speaking up,” Splinter said with a stiff little bow of his head. He then regarded them with a distant look, as if remembering a time long past. “Listen, my sons, I well understand the urges of youth, the allure of young, attractive women, but April is our guest, and a friend. You have disrespected her with your prurient actions tonight. Of course, I will not speak of this matter to her, for I believe she would be -- as you kids say these days -- ‘totally freaked out.’”

“Thank you, master.” They each breathed a sigh of relief, even Raphael, who seemed unable to unfurrow his brow line. 

“We will be practicing our masonry tomorrow,” Splinter said topically. “For now, let us enjoy the evening.”

Just then, April walked into the room, barefoot, but in dry clothes and with her red tresses wrapped up in the towel. “Ok, guys, I am starving. Who’s ready for a nice, hot slice?”

Each of the turtles raised their hands, smiling sheepishly at one another. 

“Growing boys have such an appetite,” Splinter mused with just the hint of a smirk on his whiskered face.


End file.
